You'll be the Death of Me
by TheKatInTheShade
Summary: He was grinning at me; his face pushed up against the glass of the shower cubicle so he looked sort of demented. There was a pregnant pause where I just stared at him as he happily rubbed his cheek across the glass making a loud, wet squeaking sound.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a short 5 chapter story that I'm gonna be trying to get out of my system before I go back to school because, from then on, I'm gonna be working my ass off and I'm afraid I don't have plans to be updating B+E right now, although I do have one more chapter I could do before school begins... but we shall see. In the mean time, enjoy this babe! :D**

**Summary: Ichigo can see ghosts and Grimmjow just so happens to be one.**

_**You'll be the Death of Me**_

I have bright orange hair like a traffic cone, a father so retarded he really ought to be contained and sedated, and the annoying ability to see stuff which is actually supposed to be dead.

Funnily enough I have ever only really lost sleep over the first two issues.

Firstly – my hair. I don't have a problem with it; in fact, I am quite fond of it. It keeps my head warm and stops me from being bald, so I think I'm sort of obligated to respect my hair. I really don't have anything against it.

Sadly, the rest of the world has other ideas.

You would have thought it would get old, you know? Kinda like the latest TV show or Yu-Gi-Oh! Cards; things just get over used and over talked about, and so they gradually become less popular. But there is one thing which people seem to find interesting 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year.

My hair.

I don't think people realise how sad they look when they gap at me in wonder. Random people in the street... ok, I'll cut them a tiny bit of slack, but there are people who I go to school with and see everyday who still can't seem to grasp the fact that, yes - my hair is a slightly bizarre shade of ginger.

But not only do they gape like mindless fuckwits, they also ask stupid questions.

_No, _I don't dye it and _yes_, it is real and _no_, it's not a fucking wig!

God almighty, _give me strength_!

If you really knew me then you'd know that I'm not the sort of person to go seeking attention, so why the hell would I intentionally dye my hair a neon shade of orange? But even my close friends don't seem to get it and every once in a while, when things get exceptionally boring in school, they begin a campaign to try and get me to confess to using some sort of foreign hair dye to get it such an outrageous colour.

It's just the way I am; I can't help it. My mother always taught me to be proud of who I am and I will try to do that till the day I die... if people would just - GET THE FUCK OFF MY BACK AND LEAVE MY POOR HAIR ALONE!

Ahem.

The second thing which drives me loopy with anger is my dad. Don't get me wrong, I love the tosser to bits, but the amount of times he has embarrassed me in public is a few too many to forgive.

Like the time he drove the ambulance we use for the clinic into school (sirens and lights going absolutely mental) waving a pair of my boxers and screaming that he had found some clean underwear for me to wear (there were none in my draw that morning so I just turned the ones I was wearing inside out).

But really.

Did the entire student body of Karakura high school and approximately 72 faculty member need to know that?

I don't think so, somehow.

Oh, and there was the time when I was 13 (and highly underdeveloped) that he told virtually every single person who came into the clinic for nine days straight that I had grown my first armpit hair and was now a man.

So God, err... Could I have that strength now, please?

But the final thing – having the ability to see ghosts – well... ok, its freakin' _weird,_ but it IS possible to ignore it. If I pretend that I don't see them, then they don't realise I _can_ see them and so life goes on smoothly and undisturbed.

Until one day, someone flew through the air, missing my face by about half an inch, and landed in a recycling bin.

I knew instantly something was very abnormal about this occurrence; for starters...

Well, people flying through the sky and landing in bins; it's a little self explanatory, isn't it?

So I stood my ground with my friends as we walked across the school yard towards to gate, crushing the urge to see if the person in the cardboard recycling dumpster was ok.

I tried not to look over to much, I tried not to fidget (a habit when I'm nervous), I even tried to actually pay attention to what Tatsuki and Keigo were arguing about, but...

"What're you looking at, Kurosaki-kun?"

Fuck.

I turned to offer a reassuring smile to Inoue.

"Oh, nothing." I spoke a little too quickly and she seemed to pick up on it. I cursed myself for being so obvious. Inoue quirked her brow and looked even more curiously at the bin I had been trying to avert my eyes from.

But then Keigo and Tatsuki's argument turned violent as she punched him in the mouth and he staggered into poor (but nosy) Inoue, nearly knocking her off her feet. Ishida caught her before I could and she smiled up at him gratefully.

He provided a good enough distraction and Inoue didn't talk to me again as we continues walking. When I saw that all of my friends were busy with each other I risked another quick glance at the bin.

When I turned my head I nearly shit myself.

There, one leg swung over the side of the bin ready to climb out, was maybe one of the hottest and most peculiar people I have ever seen.

Sure, he had an angry sort of unkempt look about him but his hair were such an unnatural blue I couldn't tear my eyes away. He was wearing a tight black long-sleeved shirt and dark, tatty jeans which clung to his long legs. Where he had rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt I saw strong forearms which gripped the side of the bin as he hauled himself up and over.

His expression was one of frustration and I heard him cussing from across the school yard.

Then he noticed me looking at him.

I realised his eyes were as bright as his hair as gaped at me, his face collapsing in surprise.

"Y-you can see me?" He asked incredulously.

FUCK, NO!

I tried to escape so quickly that my body had begun running before my head had realised and I ended up falling flat on my face, not quite why I was suddenly on the floor.

"Ichigo?"

"Kurosaki-kun!"

My friends came to my rescue, pulling me to my feet, but not before I cast one final apprehensive look in the direction of the bin.

There he was, perched on the side of it as if he was sitting atop a throne, not a bin meant for recycling cardboard. He has his arms folded across his chest; his head cocked to the side. He was smirking at me like some demon eyeing up a tasty snack and I felt my stomach lurch with foreboding as he opened his mouth and burst out laughing; a mad cackle which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I walk home on unsteady legs feeling sick to my stomach.

Shit, shit, shit...

He was a fucking ghost! He's dead! Not to mention he now knows that I can see him. Oh god, I'm going to be stalked, aren't I?

I see them everywhere, a lot more than I ever let on. When I was little it was difficult to tell the living from the dead, not to mention my mother taught me to be extra polite and not to ignore people. It was weird and surreal talking to the old man who has just died in dad's clinic, asking him if he needed anything or if there were any errands he wanted me to run at his old house.

Thinking back, it really wasn't that bad. The ghosts were mainly elderly and wanted me to feed their cats until the relatives dropped by or to tell their family where the will was hidden. Granted, it was kind of disturbing to see kids my age who had died, coming to me and asking for help, but they never hung around for long. I'd just go to sleep, wake up, and the ghosts I had helped were gone, replaced by new ones with new problems.

In fact, I think I remember it being kind of fun. People in school thought I was weird, talking to myself and such, but I didn't care. I had ghosts hovering over my shoulder during exams, whispering answers; they'd tell me secrets and look out for me. I admit I felt a little bit special.

_Once a ghost led me into a field and told me to dig. _

_When I asked her what the hell I was digging for, she confessed a story. It reminded me of Romeo and Juliet._

_She told me that her lover and her had agreed to run away together to escape their prejudiced families. They had stored and saved and _slaved_ to earn enough money to build a life together and they hid it there in the field so that no one would find it and when they were ready they could creep away without being noticed. _

_But one day her lover disappeared. _

_She had continued on with her life, marrying another man and having his children. She had seen her children grow up and nursed her husband in his old age, but she herself had never been able to gather her courage and dig up the tin. _

_Because, she mused sadly, if there was no money in the tin then it meant that the man she loved had run away and taken their hard earnt money for himself. _

_She couldn't bear to think of him as that sort of person so she let sleeping dogs lie and carried on with her life, trying to forget him._

_But now she was dead and had nothing to lose; her curiosity had driven her almost mad with the question..._

_**What if the money was still there?**_

If it was..._ she said she had no idea what that might mean. She said she might look for him in the next life and find out what had happened. _

_The whole time my mind was telling me foul play had gotten him out of the picture but the ghost was holding back tears as if she already suspected, so I kept my thoughts to myself as I dug._

_The ground was tough and filled with small stones which I kept scraping with the spade. It certainly wasn't one of the easiest thing's I've ever done. I got blisters, but as I picked them (what kind of 11-year-old doesn't pick blisters?) days later, I realised it might have been worth it because of what I found buried in the soil._

_It was a Celebrations tin, but it looked vintage and ancient. _

_She was crying and trembling as I prised open the rusty lid._

_Inside were photos, love letters, a bottle cork and a thick, battered envelop, secured with a small, unbroken wax seal._

_I heard a soft sigh. _

_**He loved me. I wasn't abandoned.**_

_When I looked up, the ghost had gone._

_I put the lid back on and placed the tin back into the ground._

_It wasn't my place to take the money._

When I got home I admit I was shocked to _not_ see a blue haired man sat on my bed.

I frowned. Wasn't he going to pester me to death? Didn't he want my help?

_Guess not..._ I mused lightly, kicking off my school uniform and tugging on some jeans and a shirt with 'THE FOALS' stamped on the front.

I mooched about the house for a few hours, tidying my dad's bedroom (because he is an incompetent twat) and helping Yuzu make a flan for pudding.

All throughout the evening, the blue haired man didn't make an appearance.

I thought I was safe.

I was wrong.

I was in the shower when it happened.

As an afterthought I suppose I should have been grateful that I wasn't taking a dump when he appeared, but at the time, that thought wasn't around to make the situation seem less embarrassing.

"Your pubes are orange too. Guess you're not a fake, then."

I froze when I heard the voice.

I turned my head, very slowly, inch by inch, until I saw him.

He was grinning at me; his face pushed up against the glass of the shower cubicle so he looked sort of demented. There was a pregnant pause where I just stared at him as he happily rubbed his cheek across the glass making a loud, wet squeaking sound.

I screamed, the blue-haired guy screamed; then my sisters started screaming downstairs - then my dad burst into the bathroom, also screaming, and waving an umbrella to fight off the supposed attacker/rapist/reason his 17 year old son was screaming like a girl.

**Soooooo... what do you think? Review? :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**I will be updating, but not as quickly as I had originally planned. (I also wouldn't expect too much activity from me in January or much of February either because I have a lot of school work to do).**

**My excuse – family problems.**

**Please allow me to explain.**

**Basically, long story short, my 9 year old brother got a skateboard for Christmas and has been playing with it in the house even after I screamed at him not to. He was rolling around on his belly (because he is too scared to stand on it) and head-butted the radiator... which then pretty much exploded and fell off the wall. He had two stitches in his head and is fine now, but the radiator has flooded our kitchen and messed up the heating and something to do with the hot water. **

**I am now spending my days making a tally chart of who has had a shower (at our neighbours house) because that is what you have to do with FOUR FUCKING YOUNGER BROTHERS who like to lie about their hygiene.**

**I am a bit of a nervous wreck right now soooooo... don't complain, ok? Or I may head-butt one of the remaining radiators to end my suffering right now.**

**Thank you for your time. I am now going to go and lie down in a dimly lit room.**

**Merry Christmas and have a happy new year!**

_**You'll be the Death of Me**_

_**Chapter 2**_

"So, um, you _are_ dead, then?"

"As a doornail."

"Right. Thought so."

Queue an awkward pause as I squirm under the blue-haired-guys' all-knowing gaze. Hmm... I'm sure his name isn't really 'blue-haired-guy'.

"So, who are you?" I ask, trying to keep it polite. "What's your name?"

"Grimmjow."

I raise an eyebrow and he laughs at me.

"Don't make a face like that when your name means _strawberry_." He cackles the same laugh from earlier, which causes my skin to crawl and my hairs to stand to attention.

I try not to roll my eyes.

"My parents weren't thinking about _strawberries_ when they named me." I say stiffly

He looks like he is about to laugh again but he pauses, appearing to be thinking about something.

"What's it supposed to mean then?"

I sigh.

Ever reach that point where a tiny voice in your head just says 'fuck it' and your brain refuses to give you reasons to _not_ sit down and make small talk with a dead person?

"My mum and dad got my name from a Japanese term _Ichi-go ichi-e_." I explain. I haven't told this story in a while and usually just put up with the comments people make about my name. "It means 'One chance in a lifetime'_._ They got it from some famed tea-master-guy who told it to his students to remind them that each tea-meeting is unique. I know that sounds kinda shit but it was meant in the context that each moment will exist only once and has to be fully lived and realized. It encouraged them to work hard and-"

Crap.

I close my mouth right away, well aware I've said too much. I look at Grimmjow nervously and he looks just about as surprised as I feel.

"Oh." He says; looking a tiny bit abashed. "Sorry."

But his apology is embedded with a tiny hint of sarcasm and he smirk at me as I scowl back at him.

Why can't I just learn to shut my freakin' mouth?

The blue-haired-guy (now dubbed Grimmjow) lies sprawled across my bed, his head resting in his hands; electric blue eyes studying me curiously. I try not to grind my teeth in annoyance.

"So you can see dead people?" He asks in a conversational sort of way, like were best friends talking about something we have in common.

_No_, I feel like saying. _I can't see dead people. But I can juggle and I once conquered Russia with a racoon and some crayons._

"Look," I say, pausing to sigh heavily. It's been a long day and I need to get rid of this guy so I can go to bed. "I don't help out ghosts anymore. I used to, but that was when I could afford to waste my time pissing about helping people who didn't really need it. Your dead. Just float away or go into the light or whatever, but I've got more important things to think about."

A small part of me berates myself for acting like a prick but my legs beckon me to my bed and I just frown as my feelings conflict, making my stomach squirm.

"Wow." Says Grimmjow, whistling loudly and pulling himself up to sit cross-legged on my bed. "You're really irritable, aren't you?"

He cackles again.

I don't like it.

It feels like I'm missing something.

An uneasy feeling creeps up my spine and I try to hide the sudden panic from my voice.

"Go on then." I say, fanning my hand in his direction, as if that will make enough of a breeze to blow him away. "Move along." I speed up the fanning of my hand.

"Shoo." I add, feeling totally helpless and almost slightly expectant of his next words...

"Make me."

I hear a voice in my head scream _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_ dramatically but on the outside only my eye twitches.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, hardly louder than a whisper. "_What_ did you just say?"

He slinks off my bed like a big sexy panther-man-thing (why am I slightly aroused?) and tips his head arrogantly, glaring at me in a sinister sort of way. He leers at me, his sharp white teeth gleaming in the artificial light of my bedroom.

"I said," He speaks calmly but exaggerates each word, as if he is explaining the situation to a child.

"_Make me."_

Before I could wrestle with the logic (that he is dead and therefore technically nonexistent of this physical world) which would probably stop any normal person from doing what I was about to do, I reacted.

My arm swung up of its own accord and I smashed his face in.

But what was exceptionally weird was that I actually felt my fist connect with his jaw and he staggered through the wall.

I blinked stupidly, unable to take my eyes off the spot on the unblemished wall where Grimmjow had just vanished.

Then I heard a muffled "Woahh!" from outside and Grimmjow's face suddenly appeared through the brick and plaster and paint and a corner of my Vampire Weekend poster. I tried not to throw a fit about how weird this was but, if you want to be technical about it, he was dead and this was pretty normal for a ghost.

"That's a nice right hook you have there, Ichi." Grimmjow smirked, flashing his teeth. I stared at the head now hovering about 6 ft above the floor.

"B-but... I _hit_ you. _How_?" I manage to choke out.

"It's because I let you." He replied simply. "I didn't think it would actually work, though. Every time I try it with other people, they just sail right on through me."

"O-oh."

But then I pause.

I hit him... _because he let me?_

Hold the phone!

"Hey, wait one second-!"

Grimmjow had vanished.

I was alone in my room once again and I didn't understand why.

"Ow." I rub my sore knuckles. I hit him. That was weird.

I go to bed, sleep, wake up and go to school. My activities were all totally undisturbed by a mind-games-playing, blue-haired-man.

But for some reason this bugs me.

Who is he? What does he want? Why is he startlingly attractive?

I'm not gay, ok? At least not SUPER gay. I don't go around imagining men without clothes on or what it would feel like to be fucked by a cock.

But I've always felt different because... well, it just doesn't bother me.

Men kissing men, fine. Men kissing women, fine. Even women kissing women, is A-ok (although slightly irrelevant).

I just go by what turns me on. Usually this isn't vaginas or penises specifically but what's attached to them. The person behind the genitals, that's who I like.

I'm not talking about all that pure-feelings, I'll-only-sleep-with-people-I-like, kind of thing; that doesn't sound very realistic to me. I mean when you watch porn, you don't have time to get to know the people you're watching, do you? But it doesn't take a genius to work out that the brunet with triple D's (or whatever) is begging for it or that the olive skinned guy speaking in Spanish is pretty fucking hot.

When I say I'm not SUPER gay its because most of the time I notice girls because a) most of my friends are guys and they single girls out and b) the guys at school are my friends and I struggle to see them in a sexy kind of way when I've known (for example) Keigo since he was 11 and I've actually witness him shit himself.

Not a turn on, you know?

I don't wanna be arrogant about it since people think that bisexuals are greedy, but I'm sort of grateful. I know who I am and I'm not afraid of it.

Long, rambling, non-sensical story short - I'm not some sort of totally insecure, snivelling teen, completely dependent on what people think about me or dead-set on getting a girlfriend to appear normal.

I have got _some_ things worked out.

Except this, right now. This freakin' mind games shit Grimmjow is trying to play.

He knows I'm on the edge of my seat. I bet he's here... right now...

Its tutorial; the beginning of a brand new day. It is also Thursday; thank God it's the weekend soon.

"Ichigo-kun?" The teacher calls. Oh – right – the register.

"Yea-" I begin.

Then I hear it.

"Whats wrong, Ichigo-kun?" The teacher suddenly asks; her face creased in worry. Everyone is looking at me, apparently having noticed that all the colour has drained from my face.

Queue Jurassic Park theme tune.

Yes, I am being totally serious.

Someone (who shall remain nameless until I throttle them) is humming the theme tune from the 1993 American science fiction thriller film - Jurassic Park.

Right now I am struggling to convey the depths to which my mortification has just plummeted too.

"Yeah. I'm here. Sorry. Aneurysm. Don't mind me."

"Err..." It's clearly still too early for some people as the teacher struggles to answer, but I glare at nothing in particular and she continues with the register. One by one, people's heads turn away and I ignore Chad's curious stare.

"What are you doing, Grimmjow?" I breathe.

The song is still being hummed but suddenly stops as Grimmjow bursts out laughing and materialises down from the ceiling.

"Alright, Ichigo? Having a pleasant morning?" He speaks in a loud voice over the teacher but no one looks at him because, to them, he doesn't even exists.

Fuck my life.

"What do you want?" I hiss, as quietly as I can.

"Sorry – WHAT? Speak up!" He shouts back at me.

I cringe and try not to look like there is someone dead and invisible, screaming a conversation at me whilst hovering over my desk.

Calmdowncalmdowncalmdown...

Just breathe.

Act like he isn't there.

Yeah! Ignoring ghosts has worked so well for me before. I've kept them away for this long, I can bloody well manage this little fuckwit.

No you can't~ A loopy sing-song voice in my head tells me.

Brilliant. Now I'm going mental.

Ignoring Grimmjow doesn't go quite to plan. I'm fact, I'm pretty sure the whole experience would fall under the category - 'Utter Fail'.

Not only does his rendition of Jurassic Park get so loud it almost makes me ears bleed, Grimmjow headbuts me as I walk up the stairs at break, causing people to gape in amazement as I hit my head on thin air and fall down a flight of steps.

He also stands on the teachers desk performing nostalgic songs such as 'Under the Sea' from the Little Mermaid and 'Get down on it' by Kool and the Gang. I nearly cried when he began to recite 'Firework' by Katy Perry.

But I held my ground!

Sort of.

To the outside world and my close friends it must have looked like I was having some sort of anxiety attack which lasted all day, but I didn't betray the fact that I can see dead people. That must count for something, right?

By last lesson – science – Grimmjow had resorted to sitting on my foot and biting the edge of my desk with his teeth.

I sigh heavily.

When everyone else leaves to go home I pretend I have to be somewhere else and hang around at the back of the class until everyone has gone.

"What do you want?" I ask in exasperation, resting my head in my arms. I feel Grimmjow get up and he takes a short stroll about the classroom.

"Dunno." Is his educated response.

"Right." I spit, standing up and swinging my bag over my shoulder furiously. "Well let me know when..." But my words die in my mouth.

Grimmjow is stood by the window, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. My eyes take in the sight before me. He looks so human, his pose relaxed and carefree, but his profile looks sort of grim and his brow is drawn into a sort of pouty frown. I almost laugh when I realise that's his natural face and he isn't trying to be cute. The bright colours from the setting sun stream in through the classroom and right through Grimmjow's torso.

He looks transparent; like a ghost.

Then suddenly, quite unexplainably, I feel my anger towards Grimmjow dissipate into thin air.

He looks so lonely.

"I-I'm sorry." I eventually grind out. "You... you can stick around for a bit, if you need to."

Grimmjow turns to face me, his lips set in a shit-eating grin, his eyes bright with amusement.

"So I have your consent, then? Yay! We can shower together and I can watch you whilst you pee or have a good hot wank-"

"Who the fuck_ are you?_" I ask, absolutely apoplectic with rage. "Why are you here ruining my life and making everything so fucking difficult?" All the bottle up frustration from being taunted and teased for nearly 7 hours just pours out from my mouth. I'm so angry. I hate people who just mess about with people's heads! Not to mention this creep is confusing me with his bi-polar behaviour ...

"I haven't been able to sleep or concentrate or _think_! God, you are the most retarded asshole I've ever met!"

Grimmjow's smirk slips off his face like thick paint and I admit I am kind of intimidated by the expression beneath.

"Who the fuck am _I_?" He asks quietly, placing a hand on his chest as if I ought to know. "Who the fuck am _I_? More like who the fuck are _you_?" Oh, ok- he is shouting now. "I've been dead for weeks, just floating around, bored off my tits!"

"Hey! Calm down! I didn't ask for your life story-" I shout, unsure why we are suddenly yelling.

"But that's just it!" I freeze as hysteria begins to creep into his voice. He suddenly looks a little mad. "I don't have a life anymore! I can't eat, I can't fuck anything and I can't even take a piss-"

"That's because you're _dead_..." I mutter furiously. "Being dead might entail _not_ being able to do those things-"

"I've been bored out of my freaking _mind_! I haven't spoken to anyone; my friends can't see me-"

"So your just here because you're bored?" I say suddenly.

He pauses and shrugs. "Guess I am." He replies, appearing to be calmer.

And then I look at Grimmjow, and I mean really _look_ at him and I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him. He's dead, all alone and totally clueless as to why he is here.

"Got a problem with that?" He asks defiantly.

"Well yeah, actually." I say frowning. "You can't just hang around me because you're _bored_. Can't you just... I dunno, move on? If you stick around me then other ghosts will see and then I'll be swarmed and stalked and my peace will be gone forever..."

"Is that why you want me gone?" Grimmjow asks with raised eyebrows. "Coz I'll bring others?"

"You have no idea, do you?" I say quietly, trying very hard not to let the tremble of my voice be heard. "It might be all fun and games to you but..."

I swallow, suddenly overcome with nerves. I reach into the pocket of my trousers rub the soft pocket lining between my fingers; for some reason the smoothness calms me down.

"It's scary sometimes."

I want to smack myself for sounding so pathetic and Grimmjow almost smirks at me... _almost_...

Then it all comes pouring out in an effort to make Grimmjow understand how much I need him to be gone.

_I was 6 the first time it happened._

_Clunk...clunk...clunk..._

_Then came a horrible slithering noise._

_It didn't help hiding my head under the blankets. I knew it was there, climbing the stairs. And it knew where I was. There wasn't enough time to run into my parents room. Besides, no matter how much they would comfort me, it would always follow me, whichever room I'd run into._

_I would just have to sit there and wait for it._

_It was drenched in blood and chains and rags. I could see its ribs poking out and its jaw was wide in a silent scream. Its eyes were mad, rolling into the back of its head; its nails dirty and bloody as it clenched at my carpet in an effort to drag itself towards my bed._

_Then it would just lie there and cry out in agony for help... to be saved..._

_I couldn't do a thing; creatures like that were beyond any help I could give._

_So I screamed. _

_I screamed until I thought my throat might tear. _

_I screamed until my dad would come in and carry me away._

_I didn't want to listen to its horrible cries. I didn't want to smell its rotting stench. I didn't want to be the one it came to for help... when I couldn't do a single thing but watch._

I sigh, feeling a lot older than my 17 year old self.

"Ichigo," Grimmjow is looking at me intently. He can't be a day over 20 but he's got dark rings under his eyes and an old sort of smile.

"Slow down." He tells me. "Just... _slow down_."

The whole situation has me feeling stupid and venerable.

"Yeah." I croak, wondering when I suddenly got all tired and heavy. "You too."

He laughs dryly. "I'm dead." He almost sounds bitter, but then- "I can go as fast as I want!" He punches the air and does a sort of pelvic thrust.

I laugh before bending to grab my bag for a second time. Grimmjow watches me as I walk towards to classroom door. I pause as I'm about to open it.

"Come on then."

I beckon Grimmjow with a hand and he bounds across the room excitedly and jumps through the wall.

When I open the door, he is stood there waiting for me on the other side.

**I know the ending might seem a bit... odd. But so is this situation; Grimmjow is dead and Ichigo is making **_**contact**_** with the dead. Also neither of them are happy with where they are right now. Ichigo is trying to ignore who he is (which is unhealthy) and Grimmjow is dead and needs to go into the light or whatever. I just wanted to show how similar they are in a kind of 'we both feel a lot odder and older than we look' sort of way. Get it? Have your little brother run into a radiator then you might understand, hahaha.**

**Anyway. Review. Now. Biatch.**

**Jokes LOL!**

**But seriously, leave a review. **

**Many thanks! :D**


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